


intel

by doofusface



Category: Mr. Iglesias (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, High School, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Secret Relationship, The Gang Doesn't Know How To Chill, The Gang Skips SAT Prep For Hijinks, literally this whole this is just #kalokohan, semi crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27570697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doofusface/pseuds/doofusface
Summary: It didn’t take long for her to get picked for the gig.She’s almost always situated behind the class’ star student—and that’s strategic, because Kimmy learns more this way—and where Marisol is, there Mikey shall be also.
Relationships: Kimmy & Walt Dobbs & Grace Li & Lorenzo Webber, Marisol Fuentes/Mikey Gutierrez, Walt Dobbs & Marisol Fuentes & Mikey Gutierrez & Grace Li & Lorenzo Webber
Comments: 12
Kudos: 41





	intel

**Author's Note:**

> pretty sure this can be filed under crack
> 
> kekeke enjoy

Another sheet of paper.

Blank.

Lined.

Mikey had passed it back to her (as he always does), not asking questions (as he always does), and all while pointing something out on Marisol’s notebook (as he has taken to recently).

Kimmy’s not the most invested person when it comes to their relationship, but she is still _somewhat_ invested—one doesn’t simply join the betting pool (run by Walt) if one _isn’t_ invested, is all she’s saying.

She takes out her pencil. Sharp, freshly-cut. The emptiness of the off-white-and-blue-and-red paper seems daunting, but she’s done this before. Enough times to be brave. To continue down the path least trodden.

She writes the date. Writes the time, the class.

Walt gives her a subtle look.

She nods.

It’s homeroom, and they don’t have a lot of time, but with those two you don’t need much.

Just eyes that can see within two feet ahead.

Marisol leans closer to Mikey, explaining her scribbles. Mikey _ooh_ s quietly, ignoring Mr. Iglesias’ roll call.

Kimmy’s not the most invested person in their class.

But she does happen to be the main evidence tracker.

* * *

It didn’t take long for her to get picked for the gig.

She’s almost always situated behind the class’ star student—and that’s strategic, because Kimmy learns more this way—and where Marisol is, there Mikey shall be also.

Like, you know, an ancient prophecy, or something.

Maybe a curse.

(Depends on who you ask.)

Anyway.

After Lorenzo noticed this intriguing pattern—took him long enough—Kimmy was cast in the starring role of Note-taker.

AKA, She Who…Takes Notes.

(Maybe this whole reconnaissance thing started over midterms and SAT prep, where sleep wasn’t a very big thing for…anyone. 

So just excuse the titles, is what she’s sayin’.)

Now, this whole operation started after the play—after that big smooch on stage, preserved in various parents’ Facebook videos and immortalized in hella degrading TikTok memes. Backstage was too busy during and after the show for anyone to notice anything, but you’d have to be lacking in the sight department to not notice certain behaviors once SAT prep started up in the weeks following.

The seats, moving progressively closer.

The mutual attention.

And sure, Whitney’s pro-cheating campaign might’ve given them some cover, but still—was Mikey having more one-on-one lunches with her in the courtyard? Yes. Was Marisol letting him hang around her locker _without_ any friends as buffers before and after class? Also yes.

All only getting worse after Big Show’s visit.

(The class had set up their espionage cell around that time, because _something_ had to replace the free time they’d had thinking up new cheating strategies for those without doctor friends.)

And there was the matter of Previous Evidence: that which had happened, at certain times, and in certain ways. Marisol’s appreciation of compliments. Mikey’s showering of them. Stuff that had happened already, before and well-before the play. Stuff the class hadn’t considered jotting down until Kimmy listed them off, one by one, during a secret meeting by Bob’s taco truck one day.

“You know they practiced together, right?” Kimmy had said, half a taco snarfed down.

Walt had shrugged, chugging down the remainder of his lemonade. “So? They’re the leads.”

“No, like—they had one-on-one practice. They were talking about it that day Marisol got ticked off at Bob.”

“…What.”

“I mean, there’s also the thing with the birthday cards—”

“Kimmy,” Grace had said, jaw dropping, “I think you need to write these down.”

And that’s how they made the Timeline: dated (as much as possible), with bullet points of important events, and a list of witnesses appended. 

Kimmy’d only started hanging around the gang since late in middle school, so Walt, Grace, and Lorenzo had to supply some older events, but there was definitely a pattern of Small Things from elementary onwards leading to Big Things beginning in sophomore year.

A full, written record of the Toy Story 3 incident finally presented itself to the class in late September, before promptly being torn and shredded—it wasn’t something they wanted Mikey nor Marisol to find, and definitely not a document to let exist lest it be found by an honors student.

But hey.

Now everyone in their class knows that when Mikey cried about Andy going off to college, Marisol was the one who stepped up immediately to console him—complete with a lingering hug and the last of her popcorn.

So there’s that.

By the time they’d documented the events up til the present, Kimmy had to get their evidence backed up on a computer by Grace. 

Aside from the indirect declaration when Rakeem had joined their ranks for a semester, and the fairly one-sided pining, there were some gems in the previous semester and some.

A birthday card stuck on a locker signed by the class, but everyone knows Mikey was the one to bring it to school and pass it around to greet their de facto class leader. Kimmy had to point out that Mikey received a birthday card that year that was more thoughtful than usual, and _not_ something from the entire class; Lorenzo just about lost it and rabbit-holed into the psychology of handwriting on the off-chance he ever had a shot at reading said card.

There was the decathlon—the hug, which they’ve decided to count, because Marisol did not need to get up to go straight for Mikey, aight?

The instant worry on Marisol’s face when Mikey’d planned to drop out. 

The little interactions when drama class just started—Kimmy had _plenty_ of fodder for this one, and corroborators to boot.

Then, of course, the electricity when the M&Ms shared the stage for the very first time. Grace and Lorenzo provided expert witness, considering they were the ones heckling when it happened. 

Kimmy threw in multiple accounts of light banter related to the use of Shakespearean digs leading up to Green Week—and beyond. Some included mentions of The Kiss, and the way Marisol had been responding in less of an Ew/Ugh, and more of a Sure/Whatever stance—which if you know her means you know those are pretty much polar opposite responses.

Those, plus the discussions of practicing outside of class…sealed the deal, as they say.

And then Grace dropped the bomb when October rolled around.

* * *

“They had this talk during dress rehearsal,” Grace says, before gesturing to Walt. “Heck, Walt butt in when it was getting good.”

“I stand by the no balls comment,” Walt nods.

Grace rolls her eyes. “Okay, nobody asked.” Pause. “Also, after Walt left, they agreed to do a cheek-to-cheek kiss.”

“Um,” Lorenzo says, squinting, “but they didn’t stick to that.”

“No, _Marisol_ didn’t stick to that,” Grace corrects him. “They did the stage kiss. And then she kissed him anyway.”

“I was wondering why they did it twice,” Kimmy says, brows knitting.

“Marisol said he was a great guy, and when they agreed on the plan Mikey said he wouldn’t want it any other way,” Grace says. “And then he said that was a lie, and Marisol said I know, and before the play she said she was nervous? But like, not about the play.” 

Kimmy points at her. “You heard? When they were talking at dress rehearsal?”

“Yeah,” Grace says, eyes darting to Walt. “So did someone else.”

“They weren’t slick,” Walt says simply, chin raised.

Lorenzo waves his hands around, shakes his head, and steps in the middle of their circle. “Okay, we know that. But now we have the timeline, and they can’t just make all this sus stuff go away.” He smirks. “So what now?”

“Well, duh,” Kimmy says, a brow raised. “Make ‘em break.”

“I really think you’ll get along with Rita,” Grace says, squinting.

“So would you.”

“I _do_ get along with Rita.”

“Exactly.”

“We _all_ get along with Rita,” Walt says.

“He’s right,” Lorenzo shrugs.

Walt hands Kimmy his vape pen. “Only for emergencies.”

Lorenzo scrunches up his face. “You know that doesn’t write, right?”

…Walt takes it back. “Never mind.”

“This would be a lot easier if Marisol were here,” Grace says, observing their nonsense. “But that would defeat, like, everything.” She claps her hands once, loud and foreboding. “Everybody ready?”

“They’re not gonna hate us for doing this, right?” Walt asks, laughing it off.

“Nah,” Lorenzo says, doing the same.

“We are doomed,” Grace says simply.

“What’s new?” Kimmy says, shrugging as she walks off.

Just another day to spend in class.

Just another day to do something less productive under the guise of productivity.

(Seriously, nothing more enticing to an SAT-taker than doing something _completely_ unrelated to the SATs.)

* * *

Ah, October.

The highlight of fall semester, if only for the existence of new Halloween rules: costumes allowed, candy dispersed, and, if you’re in Ms. Spencer’s class, no homework.

_The Gang Is Not In Ms. Spencer’s Class_.

Kimmy watches, pencil at the ready.

Mikey whines. “But Mr. Iglesias! _None_ of the other classes are getting weekend homework!”

Marisol squints at him. She has to pull back to do it. 

(Even though Kimmy’s been keeping a detailed log of events, she’s starkly aware that this is the moment the two’s diminishing distance between each other has actually registered in her brain.

Their chairs are very obviously nearer the meeting point of their desks, and there’s a sound of hard rubber _bonk_ ing together when their sneakers bump underneath.

They’re _very bad_ at this incognito thing.)

“That’s only Ms. Spencer’s class,” Marisol says blankly.

Mikey makes a face at her and it asks, _Whose side are you on?_

“It’s one task. And it’s a movie,” Marisol deadpans.

Kimmy’s hand jots the moment down as Mr. Iglesias cackle-giggles.

“Tough, Mikey,” he says, shrugging and passing out worksheets. He nods at the seatmates. “Maybe you two can make it a date night.”

Grace hits a key, and a loud laugh track plays.

Mikey turns red. “ _Wh_ -What’s that supposed to—”

Marisol’s eyes shoot wide. “We’re not—”

“—there’s _no_ —” Mikey panics, turning to her for help.

“— _whaaaaat_ ,” Marisol squeaks. She shrugs more times than necessary, bumping arms with him as they struggle to convince the entire room of their innocence. 

“Whaaaat,” Mikey echoes.

And then, together: “ _Pshhhh_.”

“Yeah,” Walt snickers, “ _shhh_.” He makes a show of winking. “'Big secret.'”

“ _We’re not dating_ ,” Mikey and Marisol say, at the same time, in the same tone, with the same look of caught deer on their faces.

“Drama class isn’t til tomorrow,” Grace says smoothly, smirking. 

They glare at her.

“I’m just sayin’.”

“Can you explain question three?” Marisol says quickly, turning to Mr. Iglesias.

He snorts. “There are only two questions.”

Marisol’s face reads something like _I’m Okay With Dying Right Now_ as she looks down at the worksheet to confirm that, yes—there are only _two_ questions. She closes her eyes.

Mikey makes a _RIIING_ sound all by himself, stands, grabs his backpack, and waves to their teacher as he makes a hasty exit.

“Isn’t that cutting class?” Walt asks, shaking his head.

Mr. Iglesias opens his mouth. “Well—”

_ RIIIIIIIIING! _

“—no, just being psychic,” he blinks, looking around at the ceiling. “Maybe his real surname is Mercado?”

* * *

Kimmy’s back is getting wrecked carrying the latest evidence binder around with her books for all of November. She figures there’s no real point collecting evidence anymore, because they’re very obvious, but there’s something about building an impregnable case file that’s got her still accepting the empty sheets of paper day in and day out.

A meditative exercise, almost, snuck in between class lectures and SAT grinding.

A force of habit.

A welcome distraction.

This fine morning, she spots them at Mikey’s locker, giddily yapping away. She knows what the fuss is about: there’s a poster on every wall and a banner in every hall about the big dance coming up.

Kimmy considers walking past slowly—just slow enough to hear—but nah, let ‘em have their fun.

If all else fails, they’ll cave at the dance.

She’d seen them sneak a kiss at dismissal a few days ago when they thought no one was looking, so she knows they’re getting tired of the run-around.

The dance isn’t even the finish line.

It’s the runoff after it.

* * *

Walt spins up the sting after the dance comes and goes and _nothing happens_.

A little surprising, but Grace got sick of the game after it seeped into December, and Lorenzo went the polar opposite, so Walt’s the most…stable choice.

(Kimmy could do it, but again, not as invested.)

“Why am I here?” Grace asks, frowning. “I dipped like last week.”

“It’s a distraction from the SATs,” Walt says, closing the classroom door after the last of their lot files in. “And, like, Lorenzo’s spiralling, and Kimmy doesn’t want to be my back up.”

“ _I_ don’t want to be your back up.”

“You’re the closest one!”

“But they’re taking _forever_!”

“That’s what the sting operation is for!”

“I need to be home by dinner,” Kimmy says, watching their back and forth. “And this sounds like it’s gonna take a while, so…”

Walt puts his hands up and out. “Okay! _Okay_. Look, this is what we’ll do…”

* * *

“This sounds…not legal,” Kimmy says.

"It's legal," Grace says, and they all know that means it is, but only barely.

"I don't think they'll confess anything to Ms. Ontiveros," Lorenzo says. He's like a sip of coffee away from discovering a new dimension. "And Grace is scared of heights."

"Carl isn't," Walt says, pointing at their constantly fearful brunet classmate.

"Carl's scared of everything, man," Grace says, patting the boy's shoulder before he freaks out about the possibility of climbing into a vent. "Sorry, Carl."

"Sorry, Carl," Walt mutters. He clicks his tongue. "Okay. Plan _B_ …"

* * *

"My expectations were low, but it's like you didn't even try," Grace says, shaking her head in disappointment.

"Hey!" Walt says excitedly. "That's exactly what my mom says!"

"Um," Kimmy says, raising her hand, "who's gonna do it, though?"

"Rakeem," Grace says, before Walt can get the idea out.  


"Kill joy," Walt says.

"Basic."

"Hey!"

"Can I at least tape a wire in the closet?" Lorenzo asks, fully buzzing now.

Kimmy steps back, in case an accident decides to occur.

"Sure," Walt says. "Hell, if you can sneak a camera—"

" _That's_ not legal," Grace says, shaking her head furiously. "And you _know_ that's not legal."

"…Worth a shot."

"No," the entire room says.

Walt scoffs. "So Plan B?"

"Plan B," Kimmy says, heading for the door.

"Hey, we gotta shake on it!" Walt calls. 

Grace shakes his hand and follows Kimmy out the door. "There, on behalf of the rest of us."

"You guys are so lame!" Walt yells, watching his classmates stream out. "No sting operation success cake for any of you!"

* * *

"ROCKET COMIN' IN HOT!" Rakeem hollers, and Kimmy's already exhausted.

They had to scan the last of the binder pages into the cloud drive last night, and it took hours, and SAT prep tests are suddenly looking very enticing.

Mikey frowns at the football star charging straight for him and his secret girlfriend. " _What the_ —"

Marisol grabs his arm. "Mikey, _move_ —!"

_Thud_ , _thud-thud_ , as the two get pushed into the janitor's closet— _thwump,_ _click_ , as the door is closed and locked.

Walt throws up a thumbs up for Rakeem, and Grace just shakes her head when Mr. Iglesias looks like he's about to ask what the heck is happening.

"Above my paygrade," Mr. Iglesias says, throwing up his hands in quick defeat. He points at Lorenzo. "Get some sleep."

Lorenzo holds up a pillow. "Like, the second this is done, scout’s honor."

"There's something wrong with this school," Grace says, squinting. She shakes her head when _KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK_ bounces off the door. "Nuh-uh, you got some 'splainin' to do!"

"This is _bullying_!" Marisol argues through frosted glass.

"I think something moved in the ceiling?!" Mikey screeches.

"Fess up!" Walt says, moving unnecessarily close to the glass. "Or we leave you in there til after the bell!"

"I thought we weren't going to mess up Marisol's attendance record," Lorenzo asks in a rare window of lucidity.

"Nah, man, it's a scare tactic," Walt whispers back.

"We can hear you," Marisol says. Kimmy figures she's leaning on the door. "You guys don't know how to whisper, like at all."

“That was part of the plan,” Walt says, wavering. “You, uh, have _no_ idea what’s coming!”

“Open the door, Walt!” Mikey yells, shoulder making contact with the wood panels. _THUMP_. “…Ow.”

“Are you okay?” Marisol says softly.

Mikey whines, and it sounds like he’s trying to hold it in. “ _Muh-huh_.”

Kimmy rolls her eyes. “Can we just give them the evidence?”

“That’s the _clincher_ , you don’t just give that right away,” Walt says.

Marisol squeaks. “Oh— _uh_ , Mikey wasn’t—” _Curse_. “There’s something _moving_ in the ceiling!” She tries to turn the doorknob again. “Guys, I am _NOT_. _JOKING_.”

“WHAT IS THAT?!” Mikey yells, and their shadows stick to the glass. “WHAT _THE HELL_ IS _THAT_?!”

“…They’re going to die in there,” Grace says.

“I DON’T WANNA DIE, I JUST GOT A GIRLFRIEND!” Mikey screeches.

Walt taps his phone. “Carl? Yeah. We good, you can climb out.”

There’s some muffled conversation from inside the closet, right where the vent should be.

Marisol moves close to the glass, and even the frost can’t hide how ticked off she is. “You’re banned from SAT practice, and I’m personally going to kill you for doing that to Carl,” she says, dead serious.

Grace pushes up her sleeves. “Not before _I_ get him.”

Lorenzo just glares.

“It had to be done,” Walt says solemnly.

“You got problems,” Kimmy says.

“Ms. Ontiveros said that already, you guys are late to the party.” He taps the glass with knuckle. “So you guys are dating, huh?”

"Yes," the two caged lovebirds say in unison.

Walt signals for the rest of the Definitely In Trouble After This-party to continue.

Lorenzo sighs. "Since the play?"

Marisol groans, annoyed.

Mikey thumps his head on the door, equally annoyed. "Yes."

"Do your parents know?" Grace asks.

"Yes," together.

"Who said the big L first?" Walt asks, rubbing his hands together.

Kimmy sees their shadows snap to attention.

_ Silence. _

"C'mon," Walt whines, "our bet's kinda banking on th—"

"It, uh," Mikey says, in a high squeak.

"It hasn't come up," Marisol coughs.

"I was so close to being able to sleep, I need you to know that," Lorenzo says, pouting. Kimmy thinks he's going to start buzzing again. "SO CLOSE TO SLEEP,YOU HEAR ME?"

"Everyone can hear you," Grace says.

"Bring it in, bring it in," Walt says, grabbing Lorenzo's hand. "…Rita's going to kill me."

"Oh yeah, _Rita's_ your big problem," Grace deadpans. She juts her thumb to the closet. "Not _these_ two. Not _Mr. Iglesias_."

"Rita could make me disapper," Walt says.

Kimmy nods. "That's fair." She glances at the closet, waiting.

Silence.

"I think we should let them out," Kimmy says, checking her phone's clock. "Bell's about to ring."

Carl pops up from behind Walt, dust covering his shirt. He looks half dead. "I second that."

"I third it, on behalf of the rest of the class," Grace says, unlocking the door. "Marisol? Mikey? You guys can come out now. Please don't kill me. It was Walt's idea."

Walt's jaw drops. "Dude!"

"It was," Kimmy nods.

"Seriously?!"

"Yeah, we figured it was Walt," Marisol says, stepping out awkwardly. There's a stray strip of duct tape on her sweater, and picks it off. "Ew."

"I got drama," Mikey says quietly, gesturing to the theater. "So, um." He looks at Marisol. "I'll see you later?"

She's just as subdued. "Yeah," she nods, swallowing dryly. She looks at Carl. "Do you need to go see Ms. Ontiveros?"

He nods, bottom lip quivering and eyes ready to cry. "Yes, please."

"I'll go with you," Grace says. 

"Aw, c'mon—he's _fine_ ," Walt says. "Right, Carl? Tell 'em you're fine."

"I'm—I'm fine," Carl says, voice breaking. He sniffles, and a single tear runs down his cheek.

"You're so dead, man," Lorenzo comments, seeing the girls glare daggers at Walt. "Rita likes him, too. Like, you're _dead_."

"Dangit."

Kimmy sighs. "Bye."

"Where are you goin'?" Walt asks.

"I got Hayward next period," Kimmy says, raising a brow. " _You_ wanna explain that _this_ is why I was late to his class?"

"…No."

"Bye." She waves to the trio heading to the counselor's office. "Good luck, Carl!"

"We're screwed," Lorenzo says, nodding. He pulls out his pillow. "Whatever."

Kimmy raises a brow. "We have the same class."

"I'm going to take a ten minute nap," he says, heading for the benches outside, "and then I'm going to disappear before Mr. Iglesias gives me detention for the rest of my life."

* * *

World history class hits different that afternoon.

Carl's seat is empty—sent home by Ms. Ontiveros—and Mr. Iglesias keeps making weird, inquisitive squints at the rest of the class. Marisol's tapping her pencil more than usual. Mikey's looking like he hopes a meteor hits his seat. Walt's more frustrated by the situation than anything else. Grace is typing on her laptop even though no one's doing anything or teaching anything, and Lorenzo made good on his promise to ditch.

Kimmy's thinking of ways to shred the binders they'd stashed together in the back of Bob's taco truck when Mr. Iglesias tells everyone to take a five minute break and pulls his favorite student and his favorite student's boyfriend out to the hallway.

Maybe it'll help, but Kimmy's skeptical.

Besides, what does _he_ know about secret relationships?

* * *

Walt flinches when Marisol puts something down over his shoulder. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I feel bad—"

“You can tell your accomplices it’s over,” she says, the tiny bit of annoyance in her tone diminished further by the growing smile on her lips.

“I said it first,” Mikey says, holding her hand—right there! Out in the open!

_ Hell yeah! _

(Kimmy isn’t invested, but it’s still nice to be right, okay?)

Grace shoots up like a meerkat. She spots Mr. Iglesias walking back in. “You did it?”

“I went to annoy Jac—Ms. Ontiveros,” he says, clearing his throat. He sits, back at his desk. “I didn’t do anything, just gave ‘em some space.”

“Which is all we wanted, by the way,” Marisol says.

“You guys should text Lorenzo to come back,” Mikey says, looking at the empty seat in the middle of the class.

“And you owe Carl… _something_ ,” Mr. Iglesias says. “I don’t know _what_ , but _something_.”

“Rita said you’re dead,” Mikey says to Walt, nodding. “Just so you know.”

“Great,” Walt gulps.

“So I can burn the evidence now, right?” Kimmy asks.

“Light ‘em up, sister,” Grace nods.

“ _Not here_ ,” Mr. Iglesias says. “Not even _close_ to here.”

Kimmy salutes. “Yessir.” She turns to Walt. “When are you giving me my winnings?”

“You should’ve been banned,” Walt says, begrudgingly pulling an envelope from his pocket. He counts out a wad of bills from inside his desk drawer, rolling it up and discreetly passing it to her after he walks over. “Seriously. You knew.”

Kimmy grins. “I did.”

“I’m so disturbed by this,” Marisol says, back at her seat. She turns to Mikey. “This is weird, right?”

He shrugs. “It’s Walt.”

“…True.”

Mikey shifts in his seat, turning back to Kimmy. “You won the big cut?”

Kimmy grins again, relaxing back into her chair. “Listen. I see things. I see _most_ things. I figured.”

Marisol raises her hand.

Mr. Iglesias quirks a brow.

“I wanna move seats.”

“To where? And why?”

She juts a thumb back at Kimmy. “To wherever is safe from Sherlock over here.”

“Nah,” Mr. Iglesias says, checking his papers. “I’d have to move Mikey, too.”

Walt snickers. “He’s right.”

Marisol shrugs.

Kimmy would be more surprised that she’d given in so easily, but then again, she _had_ been watching the two closely the last year—Marisol was subtler, but didn’t like being separated from her boyfriend much, either.

“So we can start class now?” Mr. Iglesias asks, sighing. “No more weird meddling?”

“Wait,” Grace says, frowning. She tilts her head at him. “Why’d you go to Ms. Ontiveros?”

Marisol’s face scrunches up. “And why’d you call her Ja—” 

“ _We’re going to start class_ ,” Mr. Iglesias says pointedly, clapping his hands. “So, the Kingdom of Bohemia…”

* * *

Mikey pouts. “Why do _I_ have to do it?”

“She likes you the most,” Walt says.

“You’re gonna need these,” Kimmy says, passing a blank notebook and a handful of pens. 

“I never agreed to this. Like. For the record,” Marisol says, also getting handed writing material by Grace. 

“I could just give you guys wires,” Lorenzo says nonchalantly. “It goes smoother.”

Marisol and Mikey stare at him.

“…Or not.”

“ _Kimmy_ ,” Marisol says, Last Ditch Effort in her tone, “ _why_.”

“Science,” Kimmy grins.

“I don’t like this,” Mikey says, pouting still. “Hard pass.”

“You took the notebooks,” Grace says solemnly. “You’re complicit.”

“You handed them to us!” Marisol says.

“ _Complicit_ ,” Grace repeats.

A beat.

Mikey turns to his girlfriend. “…We need new friends.”

Kimmy gestures to the door. “Mr. I is at the teacher’s lounge. Ms. Ontiveros is gonna be done with Carl in five minutes, then she’s heading to the library.” 

“How do you know that?” Marisol squints.

“Girl, I’ve been tagging you two since May,” Kimmy says, rolling her eyes. “These two were easy.”

“We still haven’t agreed,” Marisol says, pointing at Walt. “I want that on the record.”

“Whatever, you’re curious,” Walt smirks, pushing them out the door.

“Only because I love Ms. O and Mr. Iglesias stares at her like all the time,” Mikey says, hands up in defense. “Marisol just wants to mess with him.”

“It’s a valid reason,” Marisol frowns.

“Winning money’s a good reason, too,” Kimmy says, shrugging. She waves at them. “Remember, just observe them, let ‘em do their thing, keep ‘em comfortable, and it’ll be fine.”

“ _Still_ concerned about how much you know about this,” Marisol says, stepping out into the hallway.

“F’real,” Mikey says, following her.

Kimmy waves. “ _Good luck!_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> they just never learn, truly
> 
> carl's that white kid with the floppy hair? skinny? looked terrified of big show in the game on special (he was beside the blonde girl)?? idk he looks like a carl, yknow?
> 
> God bless ya fam, comments + kudos appreciated, I am reeling from the trailer, that is all <3


End file.
